Of things Past
by missjov
Summary: Faramir's point of view of his life and past love with Ariaelle of Imladris. (Note: Title changed)
1. Depression

Past and Remembered  
  
By: Ariaelle  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters. If any people or places relate to those in real life, it is purely coincidental. Ariaelle of Imladris is a character of my own making.  
  
Author's note: This is my second piece of fanfiction, after 'Red Dawn'. I hope it's a fun read. 'Past and Remembered' corresponds with 'Red Dawn' and is a tragedy/romance/action-adventure. Enjoy and please review! I want to dedicate this piece also to J.R.R. Tolkien for inspiring me to write and also to David Wenham for his beautiful portrayal of Faramir, which this fanfic is now based on. And I'm really sorry, the formatting isn't working with me. Faramir's writing in his diary...at 'ill and weary' he stops and puts down his quill. Sorry for making it so complicated!  
  
Chapter I: Depression  
  
It was dark in my study. The only light came from the fireplace. I began to write:  
  
I was the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. It was a worthy position in Gondor's army, given to me by my father. But I did not receive my Captaincy because of battle prowess.  
  
I was a poet, a dreamer, and a musician. I was a lover of the arts.  
  
And yet, I was also a soldier. My strength with the bow was good and my firing accurate. My blade was elven-made, a present from my brother, Boromir. It was more slender than Gondorian blades, so I had another made for common use in Ithilien.  
  
My father was the Steward of Gondor, and my brother, the heir. I loved them and my mother. But my father was different.  
  
Sometimes, I wish that I had another father. I would rather give up my status and have a loving father, than be in the position that I was in now.  
  
My father loved my brother and not I. It was obvious. Even in our names, you could tell. 'Boromir' meant 'Mighty Jewel.' 'Faramir' meant 'Sufficient Jewel.'  
  
Through the words he spoke and the actions he commanded, I could tell he loved me not. My captaincy meant my banishment from court. There was no more need for him to deal with me and my "excuses." He would no longer have to see my face and feel the disappointment I evoked.  
  
What did I do?  
  
Nothing. I let him be. I let him discourage and push me lower than Boromir. It was his personality and his nature that influenced his actions. After all, he was the Steward and Ruler of Gondor.  
  
I sank into depression more than often and my worrying would make me ill and weary.  
  
I put the quill down. A good start, I thought.  
  
I had received the diary as a gift from Boromir.  
  
"Take this, little brother." He had said, "You'll make more use of it than I."  
  
I had been happy to take it. Paper was used sparingly these days.  
  
I stretched and got up to look out the windows of my study. Stars littered the sky and the moon shone like a beacon. I smiled a little. I wondered why, for I hadn't been smiling for a while.  
  
My captaincy had enlightened and depressed me, both at once.  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Enter." I said off-handedly.  
  
Mablung's head poked in, "Captain?" he asked uncertainly.  
  
"Mablung, you know better than to call me that," I grumbled and plopped into a chair.  
  
My second-in-command enjoyed the chain of command. I despised it.  
  
"Just teasing, Faramir." Seeing my humorless look, he followed with, "All right?"  
  
"No." I said, more than a little cross.  
  
"Is it me?" he asked slowly.  
  
I scratched my chin, "No."  
  
"Mmm..." Mablung lowered himself into a chair, "May I sit down?"  
  
I shot him an annoyed look and he blinked in puzzlement.  
  
"Really, Faramir, you don't look too good. Are you sick?"  
  
"No."  
  
He came over and surveyed me. His eyes ran over the desk, searching for wineglasses or ale. "Is it another of those headaches?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Faramir." He said concernedly. "What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Will you talk with your brother?"  
  
"No."  
  
"He wishes to speak with you."  
  
Mablung clapped a hand on my shoulder and I looked up. He put out a hand and I ignored it. Irritably, he kept his hand right in front of my nose until I'd grasped it reluctantly. He pulled me up.  
  
"Thank you." I muttered.  
  
He sighed and said, "You aren't well and I will not ignore that fact."  
  
I rolled my eyes sarcastically.  
  
"Can I fix you anything?" he asked, as though he were a servant boy and not a lieutenant.  
  
I shook my head, "It's fine, Mablung. But you can stay in here if you want. Just-" I paused, remembering the diary.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Don't look through that." I said, pointing at the leather bound book.  
  
A mischievous grin spread over his face. "Is it what I think it is, Captain?" he gently stressed the word of protocol.  
  
I colored and stalked out before he could elaborate. His burst of laughter echoed in the corridors as my face burned.  
  
Shaking my head, melancholy took over once more. I went directly to my brother's chambers.  
  
I knocked.  
  
"Who is it?" Boromir asked from within the room.  
  
"Your brother." I said, without humor.  
  
He opened the door spontaneously. "There you are! I have an idea..." he said, grinning.  
  
He closed the door quickly and frowned. He lowered his voice, "The soldiers are bored."  
  
I shrugged nonchalantly. "It's always like that when they're being recalled. Most are always late, so those who are early will have to wait."  
  
Boromir wasn't listening, "We should all stay up tonight."  
  
I knew him well, "No, brother, we can't start celebrating with the men. I mean, Father hates those sort of things." And I'm not in the mood for getting him agitated, I wanted to add.  
  
Boromir nodded, "I know. But I'll be starting it anyway. The soldiers are rambunctious. I haven't slept sound for two days!" I knew that he'd been unusually tired for the last little while, but was it worth upsetting Father?  
  
"He'll be very unhappy with you." I said knowingly and he smiled.  
  
"Oh stop your fretting, Faramir." He grinned, "Let's go get a drink!"  
  
He pushed me back out the door and we walked straight down to the mess hall.  
  
Lo and behold! Ale barrels were already set on one side and tables were spread out in the hall. It didn't matter if he asked me or not, I realised. He'd already made plans.  
  
Not in the best mood, I sat down. A few men trickled in. Boromir had already taken the liberty of telling the men.  
  
I guess I'm just another soldier, I thought sadly.  
  
Mablung came straight to me, "I doubted you would return."  
  
I made no reply. Depression was still sinking slowly into my bones.  
  
"Faramir?"  
  
"Yes?" I said softly.  
  
"You don't have to be here." Mablung said comfortingly.  
  
I stared blankly at him, something I only did in the most difficult times.  
  
He could see the pain in my eyes. He could see the regret and the anger. He could see the anxiety and anguish. He was a friend, a truly good friend.  
  
I turned away and sighed. "Thank you, Mablung." I said softly.  
  
He drew a sharp breath, "I only want you to be happy, my lord, though it seems to be a difficult thing to achieve at this time."  
  
I nodded, "I'm sorry for all this. It's just...everything. I don't know all of the Rangers stationed in Ithilien. They might not like me, or..." I stopped. I sounded like a child, I thought angrily to myself. Getting all frustrated with Mablung and then not apologizing and now, having him listen to all my troubles.  
  
But then I remembered the scenario I was in. My father hated me. He hated me, his second son, so much that he wouldn't banish me outright, but disguise his actions by making me captain. Ironic, I thought. I wouldn't be able to visit Boromir often. I wouldn't be able to joke with him at breakfast or enjoy the leisure of my personal chamber. I'd be sleeping on damp leaves for a long while. I wouldn't be able to write and read Elvish poetry every evening. My life would just have gone down the drain.  
  
Listen up, princeling, my other side protested. You're half prince and you're treated like one. Breakfast? Don't you know that most of the peasants don't even have enough food for one meal a day? Don't you know that they suffer from poverty, while you enjoy a feather bed? Don't you know that none of the soldier you command have never been treated half as well as you are?  
  
I felt like a selfish, arrogant son of a Steward. Mablung tilted his head to one side, awaiting my response.  
  
"I think I'll stay here. I'm feeling better." I told him quietly.  
  
"That's good, my lord." He said. He stood and left me alone.  
  
It was going to be a long night. 


	2. Company

Author's note: Finally! Chapter 2 is finished!! I was preoccupied with 'Red Dawn'. Please forgive me! I'll spend more time with this one in the future.  
  
Chapter 2: Company  
  
I sipped some of the wine in my cup. I tasted nothing. I felt nothing except uselessness.  
  
What could I do to prove my worth? Did I even have any worth? Didn't I matter too?  
  
Probably not.  
  
I finished the glass of red liquid and looked around. There were my former soldiers. But now that I had become Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, they were no longer under my command as a soldier was, only as Gondorians were. Boromir had been made Head of Gondor's army.  
  
He was smiling and laughing. He hadn't been this jovial since his last victory, a while ago. It had been a small, but quick victory.  
  
To this very day a month ago, it had been an exact year since Mother's death. I still wore black in her remembrance. Boromir hadn't been too cheerful either, but he had never been very close to our mother.  
  
I ran a hand through my hair and stood to get another glass of wine. Mablung came up beside me.  
  
"You're not looking much better, Faramir." He said. I turned away.  
  
"I'm still nowhere near 'well', that's all."  
  
"Ask for leave." He suggested mildly.  
  
"No, I don't want to disappoint Boromir."  
  
"Disappoint him? That's absurd, Faramir. He is your brother. He will understand."  
  
"I suppose that much is true." I muttered, seeing a servant boy and telling him to get another glass of wine.  
  
"You're drinking." Said Mablung flatly.  
  
"I believe I am."  
  
"Stop it then." He tried to move the glass from my lips.  
  
I chuckled, and stepped back to avoid him.  
  
I sat down again, but he remained where he was. "Do you want me to ask him for you?  
  
"No." I replied so suddenly that I surprised even myself.  
  
"But-"  
  
"I'll be all right, Lieutenant. You are dismissed. There are enough people here to help me if I get too drunk."  
  
I really didn't want him to follow me around. Mablung wasn't a servant, he was an officer. After all, he deserved a bit of fun. I wouldn't let my state of mind affect him.  
  
Mablung gave a resigned sigh. "I tried..." he muttered to himself and left me.  
  
I finished another glass. As if on cue, the servant boy returned with another goblet of wine. I thanked him and gave him a coin. He had eyed me warily, but bowed and muttered, "Thank you, my lord." all the same.  
  
I swirled the liquid in the glass, unsure of whether to drink it. Getting a hangover didn't seem like the brightest idea. And tomorrow would be nearly my last day before setting off to Henneth-Annun, the Ranger's refuge and Ithilien base. I didn't want to stay sick all day.  
  
I took the wineglass and emptied it into a drain. Now, I wouldn't have anymore temptations to drink it. I wasn't drunk. In fact, I was nowhere near. I probably could have spared that last glass.  
  
Better safe than sorry.  
  
Setting the glass on a table, I mingled with the crowd. Most of the men addressed me by name, and I would have to turn and shake hands with them, perhaps start a conversation. It lightened my spirits, but only by so much.  
  
Shaking my head with a small smile, I left another table.  
  
Suddenly, there was a flash of royal blue and someone collided hard against me. I stepped back, a little puzzled. A girl stood there, off-balance, and surprise in her dark eyes. Her raven hair hung at her waist. A sudden look of confusion passed through her elven features, as I gave her a look of apology.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just...hurrying past, and I didn't see you." She said.  
  
The blue dress she wore was light and looked to be of spring season. There was a black trim on the collar and waistline. Her sleeves were of light blue silk. A thought passed through me: her features did not seem in all elven, yet not purely like my kind.  
  
"It's quite all right." I said gently. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"No, sir, I'm not. Thank you though." She said. She rubbed her wrist. Was she nervous? Did she know who I was?  
  
"Would you like to sit down?" I asked, pointing to a table nearby, away from the large crowds.  
  
"It's very kind of you, sir." She said gracefully.  
  
I smiled a little at her politeness, "I haven't seen you around before."  
  
There had been no word from Father about a visit from the elves. Why was she here? Minas Tirith was fair, but nothing like the beauty of Elven kingdoms.  
  
I pulled out the chair for her.  
  
"Err...Thank you, sir. I'm from Rivendell." She said.  
  
"Rivendell?" I said, "I thought your dress looked to be elven made."  
  
It clarified only a little. Why was she here? An errand perhaps? No, she would have been in the Citadel's Throne Room with Father, not here in a soldier's party.  
  
"What is your name?" I asked, "From what I know, there have been no visitors from Rivendell."  
  
"Ariaelle of Imladris." She said, "My father's name is Mariol. He's a guardsman here. I'm a half-elf. My mother..." She paused and I trained my eyes on her. What was wrong? "My mother was an elf and my father from Gondor."  
  
"I see." I murmured. It made more sense now. Mariol was her father. He would be on sentry duty tomorrow night. Perhaps I should tell his daughter to remind him... Suddenly, she kicked me lightly near my ankles. Her head shot up as I regarded her stilly.  
  
"Sorry." She said quickly. I moved my chair and shifted myself so my legs and hers were not parallel. She smiled gratefully and stretched.  
  
Her shoulders moved. It seemed as though she was nursing a sore spot underneath the table.  
  
"Are you all right?" I asked curiously.  
  
She winced slightly, "Oh...well...my wrist hurts a little. That's all..."  
  
"May I see?" I asked. My Silver pendant wasn't useless. And if it the hurt was little, I wouldn't need anything at all.  
  
She blinked and slowly nodded. She put her hand on the tabletop.  
  
I moved my fingers near hers but paused, "Can I touch your wrist?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
I examined her wrist slowly, feeling for any sign of a sprain. Finding none, I searched for torn muscle. There was a little. Bruises? A few. I closed my eyes for a moment and moved my fingers along with what I felt was the start of the pain. I ended up next to one of the major veins.  
  
"If I'm right," I said. "It should hurt there."  
  
"You can try."  
  
I watched her and pushed the spot gently. She drew a quick breath and met my gaze.  
  
"How did you do that?" She asked, surprised.  
  
"I talk to the healers sometimes. I learn simple things like those." I replied. Lord Elrond had taught me as well. And Mithrandir, he had helped.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Haven't you learned that from Lord Elrond in Imladris?" If she lived in Rivendell, wouldn't she have met Lord Elrond? When I examined her, I had sensed a little bit of her resistance that only came with healing others. If I was wounded in battle, it was difficult for any healer to patch me up. I usually kept my wounds secret.  
  
"Oh, yes." she said, "I just...can't heal myself yet. I can heal others though."  
  
"I see." I murmured, "What can you do?"  
  
"Um...I can heal external wounds and bleeding, though severe bleeding makes me tired." I nodded. It wasn't easy to heal bleeding for me either. "I can also heal fractures and broken bones...severe ones are difficult. I can clean wounds and heal...err...basic sicknesses."  
  
"That's quite a bit." I said, smiling.  
  
She blushed, "Oh well...you found where it hurt."  
  
"But you said that you could not yet heal yourself, so there is nothing to say."  
  
Her wrist tightened and she flinched.  
  
"Can you make it go away?" she pleaded.  
  
"The pain? Maybe, but it would have to hurt before it got better. You should keep talking while I work on it." I said.  
  
I might as well help her out. Though, she seems a little...different. She wasn't "shy" like the other court ladies. They would act like a kitten, when speaking with the gentlemen, but would gladly chatter and gossip away when they were alone with friends. Ariaelle didn't seem like that at all.  
  
The thoughts went on in my head as I massaged her wrist, concentrating hard.  
  
"Do you shoot as well as Mariol?" I began the conversation.  
  
"Well...I wanted to, but he never taught me." she said distastefully.  
  
"Oh, really?" I said, a little shocked, "You wanted to learn how to fight?"  
  
She nodded, "Yes, I've always wanted to, but Father doesn't think that I should learn how. I end up reading and writing instead. Perhaps I'll be a scholar and not a Ranger."  
  
"There are no female Rangers." I said quietly, pausing.  
  
"Oh really? How do you know?" she asked curiously.  
  
I sighed, "I am Faramir, second son of Denethor, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I command the Rangers of Ithilien." 


End file.
